


Unthwarted Wile

by TourmalineQueen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is very unused to affection or being taken care of, Aziraphale was abused and traumatised, CRowley is very unused to affection or being taken care of, Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a wily demon, Crowley loves to feed his angel, Crowley's wiles are too much fun to let go, Fluff, Gen, It's a bit sad, Post-Canon, abuse and trauma are not directly mentioned but are strongly implied, and kind, but also optimistic, neglect counts as trauma and abuse in this contect, they are figuring it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24697777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: Based on this Tumblr post: https://aziraphales-niftyglasses.tumblr.com/post/620795023589523457/augustales-drethelin-does-anyone-else-getCrowley needs to be mischievious so plots to get Aziraphale a treat. Aziraphale does not respond as expected.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	Unthwarted Wile

Crowley rubbed his hands and allowed himself one (1) evil chuckle.

"Oh, Aziraphale is going to be _so_ surprised," he murmured to himself, trying to sound as wicked as possible.

Adjusting to life without Hell breathing down his neck was tricky, and Crowley had a lot of mischievious, demonic energy he needed to use. Hence today's _scheme_ , of which he was especially proud. Aziraphale was at a rare book fair in Surrey, so Crowley was left to his own devices, and oh, what wicked devices they were! 

The table in the back room of the bookshop was laden with all of Aziraphale's favourite edible treats: crepes, assorted fruit salads and fruit cocktails, profiteroles, roast beef with mashed potatoes and yorkshire pudding, that curry thing from the Indian take away down the road that Aziraphale didn't know Crowley knew about, one especially tasty Pink Lady apple, his favourite pain au chocolat, fondue, and even roast dormice - Crowley had had to venture quite far from London to source them, and had accidentally eaten a few because, well, a serpent's going to serpent.

Outside, Crowley heard a taxi pull up and an angel got out, thanking the driver profusely. Crowley scurried to the front of the shop, all the better to see Aziraphale's reaction to his _wily plan_. There was the sound of Aziraphale's key in the door, and Aziraphale crossed the threshold.

"Ah, Crowley, dear boy. I do hope you weren't too put out without me present to keep you occupied," the angel greeted the demon warmly.

"Nah, got to do some very excellent wiling, without you here to thwart me," Crowley grinned, plucking Aziraphale's bundle from the book fair and putting it on a nearby table. "Come on, in the back, just wait and see what I've been up to without you to stop me."

"Oh, _Crowley_ , you didn't," Aziraphale began, actually wagging a finger in Crowley's direction.

Crowley giggled, cleared his throat and gave a much more acceptable wicked chuckle, "just come and see, angel."

Aziraphale sighed and removed his coat, hanging it up beside the door, then stepped further into his sanctum. He stopped stock still when he got close enough to see the back room. 

"Got you!" Crowley crowed with glee. Aziraphale made a tiny noise. He was tense and stiff. Crowley, suddenly unsure of himself, sniffed the air quietly, but found that no, nothing had gone off (not that it would dare, with the threats he'd made to ensure the food would be as delicious as possible for his angel to enjoy). Something had gone Wrong with his scheme.

"Angel?" Crowley asked softly, keeping his voice gentle and free of any demonic energy.

"Y-you-you've put up a - a- _picnic_ in the back room," Aziraphale said, stammering and hoarse.

"Yes! All your favourites! I knew you'd be hungry so I schemed and wiled to make sure you had something delicious to come home to," Crowley explained. "Nobody to thwart me."

"You - you put together a - a - a picnic - f - for _me_?" Aziraphale asked, quietly.

"Yes? Isn't that a properly wicked scheme? Angel?" Crowley was starting to feel as though he had WILDLY miscalculated the impact of his wiles.

Aziraphale swallowed hard. He cleared his throat, then cleared it again. He brought his fist up to his mouth. He looked to be trying not to react at all.

"What is it, Aziraphale?" Crowley was now Concerned and Worried.

"Nobody - ever - not even Oscar or Antinous - certainly not Gabriel, Uriel or Sandalphon, no-one has ever done anything so - so kind for me," Aziraphale said quietly, his low voice muffled slightly by his clenched fist. "Oh, _Crowley_!"

The demon suddenly (but not unexpectedly) found himself half-smothered by Aziraphale throwing himself into him and hugging him hard. For an angel who prided himself on being soft, he was very strong, indeed, and Crowley knew he wouldn't be able to escape the angel's clutching arms. Not that he wanted to escape, for all that Hell was a place of thronging overcrowding, there was no such thing as gentle touches or affection, and Crowley took every opportunity to soak up any scraps of affection he could get. It took a few minutes of basking in the warmth of being held (feeling almost like he was something - someone? - the angel felt was precious) before Crowley was in a position to look at Aziraphale directly. The angel's eyes were shut tight, and he was simply breathing slowly and holding on to Crowley like his existence depended on it.

"Angel?"

"In a minute, dear boy, I'm having either a lot of little feelings all at once or one very big feeling, and it's - it's - difficult," Aziraphale replied.

Crowley nodded. "I - ngk - yeah," he said. He was having either a lot of fellings or one big feeling, too, he knew how the angel was feeling.

Crowley had no idea how much time had elapsed when Aziraphale loosened his grip, all he knew was that the shadows cast by the stacks, against the light coming from the glass ceiling above, had moved across the floor. Aziraphale drew back and met Crowley's gaze. 

"My dear," he said softly, adding, with feeling, a heartfelt, " _thank you_."

"Ngk," said Crowley, "nobody ever appreciated you, never knew what they had with you. Except me."

"Indeed, my dear. Now, tell me about this wily scheme of yours - do I detect roast dormouse? How on earth - I haven't had that since the Tudors fell to the Stuarts, or was it the other way around?"

"Look, there was supposed to be more of them, but, ah, well, serpent habits die hard," Crowley said, flushing slightly.

"My dear, you do know that nothing makes me happier than to _share_ my food with the one I love," Aziraphale replied.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's mischievous not mischievious but it's much more mischievious to misspell it. Crowley would be proud.


End file.
